


things that you can't say tomorrow day

by purple_cube



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1339117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_cube/pseuds/purple_cube
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss and Peeta’s conversation on the night of Finnick’s wedding stays with them for a long time. But slowly, they learn to move on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	things that you can't say tomorrow day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Prompts in Panem on Tumblr, Round 5 Day 2, using the prompt Marigold/Cruelty.

 

**_"You're not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?"_ **  
  
Her eighteenth birthday coincides with a rare Spring-time heat wave, and when Greasy Sae asks hers what she would like for a present, it’s the first thing that comes to mind. “A haircut.”  
  
Though her braid largely keeps the hair from the back of her neck, loose strands still tickle her throat and jaw annoyingly. Decided, she doesn’t give the older woman a chance to respond, reaching for the scissors that reside in a kitchen drawer.  
  
And then Katniss cuts off her braid, watching it drop to the ground with a dull thud.  
  
Sae laughs heartily, something that she hasn’t heard, well, since she was reaped. “Come here,” she says, pointing at the wooden chair closest to her. “I’ll make it look presentable.”  
  
“It has to be off my neck,” she says irritably as she sits down. “It’s too hot to have it sticking to me.”  
  
To Sae’s credit, she works deftly and quietly, and Katniss is surprised when she is told to go and look in the mirror. She is even more surprised by what she sees. Spotting Sae hovering from the corner of her eye, she comments jokingly, “Your talents are wasted in the kitchen. You should have been on my prep team.”  
  
At dinner, Haymitch snorts in amusement and asks her if she’s planning her escape, thinking that people won’t recognize her without the braid. _If only it were that simple_. Peeta doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at her any more than he does normally.  
  
When he gets up to leave, she tries to ignore the stab of disappointment in her chest.  
  
But then he returns a few minutes later, a small box in his hand as he waits patiently for her to let him in.  
  
“Happy birthday.”  
  
He hands over the box, and she sees the contents immediately through the transparent covering.  
  
“You made me a cake,” she states in surprise.  
  
He shrugs as if he has just handed her a trickle of flour, and not something that he has clearly spent hours on, judging by the elaborate frosting.  
  
“Thank you.” She waits for a moment before adding, “I’ve never had a birthday cake before.”  
  
“Neither have I,” he says with a wry smile. She must look confused, prompting him to explain. “My parents couldn’t afford to waste a perfectly good cake on any of us when it could be sold, and it seems…I don’t know…sad to make one for myself.”  
  
“You’ll have to share this one with me, then,” she suggests shyly.  
  
Now it is his turn to look surprised. “You don’t have to –“  
  
She cuts him off. “I want to. Please.”  
  
He follows her into the kitchen, and takes a seat while she reaches for plates and cutlery. When she settles beside him and cuts into the cake with a small sigh, he lifts his hand to gesture at her hair.  
  
“You look pretty. It suits you.”  
  
She eyes him with mock-suspicion. “You’re just saying that because I’m giving you a piece of my cake.”  
  
He laughs lightly, still such as rare sound since his return. “I got to taste some while I was making it. I’m a bowl-licker,” he adds with a conspiratorial whisper. “So, no, I’m not just saying it in return for cake.”  
  
She smiles into her plate, and they don’t talk much after that.  
  
When she falls and sprains her ankle the next day while out in the woods, she figures that it’s the universe’s way of balancing things out after such a pleasant birthday. Thankfully, she only has to wait a few hours before Thom and Leevy come looking, calling out her name as they stride further into the undergrowth.  
  
“Peeta sent us when you didn’t come home for dinner,” Thom explains. “He wanted to come out himself, but with his leg…”  
  
She nods in understanding. “I think it’s just a sprain. Doesn’t feel broken.”  
  
Thom carries her to the edge of the meadow, where his cart is waiting, and they ride back to Victors’ Village in silence. When they arrive, everyone fusses around her so much that she snaps and tells them all to leave. They do, except for Peeta, who hovers by the door for a moment before turning back to face her.  
  
“Come on. I’ll help you get upstairs.”  
  
For the second time in a day, she finds herself being hoisted into somebody’s arms, but Peeta manages to make it seem even more effortless than Thom had.  
  
“Thank you,” she mumbles, though with sincerity, as they reach the top step.  
  
“It’s fine. You’re not very big.” And even though his tone is entirely different, her mind transports them back to his room in District 13. _Or particularly pretty_.  
  
He must be thinking the same thing, because his face falls and his step falters. “I’m sorry.”  
  
They have reached the door to her bedroom, and here he stops entirely.  
  
“It’s okay.”  
  
“No, I mean, I’m sorry for what I said back then. I just wanted to hurt you.”  
  
“So did I,” she says after a moment. “I’m sorry, too.”  
  
They stare at each other, and just this once, Katniss wishes that his expression showed what he was thinking. _He never used to be so guarded_.  
  
“Could you get the door?” he asks with a jerk of his head. “I’m a little…occupied.”  
  
She smiles at his words, reaching behind her to twist the handle and push it away from her. Peeta turns them, using his back to propel the door further and get them into her room. Once inside, he makes his way steadily to her bed and sets her down carefully.  
  
“Thank you,” she says quietly.  
  
“No problem. Like I said, you’re not heavy. Most of your weight must have been in your hair,” he says lightly.  
  
Katniss smiles, realizing how much she had missed this. The effortlessness of his companionship.  
  
“Stay a little while?”  
  
“Of course,” he says with a grin, before reaching down to pull off his shoes. He scoots across her legs to settle on the other side of the bed, and when he tentatively places an arm on her pillow, she doesn’t hesitate to tuck herself into his side. “You really do look pretty,” he adds after a while.  
  
*  
  
 **_"And not even remotely nice. To say that to me after all I've been through."_ **  
  
Though there is talk of reinstalling the town square and the original merchant shops that resided there, progress on the rebuilding of District 12 is slow. So, when people slowly start arriving on the Capitol trains, they migrate to the only neighborhood that is habitable, Victors’ Village.  
  
And somehow, Peeta’s kitchen ends up being the unofficial town bakery as he insists on providing bread for as many of his neighbors as possible. Along with the prey and plants that Katniss collects, and Greasy Sae’s cooking experience, the three of them provide what they can to supplement the Capitol’s deliveries.  
  
One afternoon, her hunting bag is too light for her liking, so she digs up some of the katniss roots by the lake and forages for other plants. Near the meadow, she sees fireweed and plucks a handful to give to Peeta to paint into the plant book.  
  
She heads to his house after dropping off her bag at Sae’s, clutching the stems of fireweed. His door is unlocked, and when she pushes her way in, the wall of heat that hits her is stifling.  
  
“Peeta?”  
  
“In the kitchen,” he calls out.  
  
Making her way there, she stops just short of the entrance when he walks across the room carrying a bag of flour on his shoulders.  
  
He must see her from the corner of his eye. “Delivery on this morning’s train,” he explains, all the while continuing his task. He drops the bag with a loud thump in the corner of the kitchen, out of her sight until she stops in the doorframe.  
  
His chest is bare, not surprising given the heat emanating from the oven that’s probably been firing since the early hours. Still, it’s a sight that she hasn’t seen for a long time.  
  
“Katniss? You okay?”  
  
She chastises herself for staring. But the fact that he is the only person in the District to collect, carry and use these frequent baking provisions from the Capitol has clearly had an impact on his physique. The ripples of his abdomen glisten with sweat.  
  
“You look good,” she blurts out. “ _Well_. I mean you look well.”  
  
He raises an eyebrow, something that she can’t ever recall seeing before. Something that Haymitch does all the time, and it’s odd to see their mentor’s cynicism on Peeta’s face. “Katniss Everdeen delivering a compliment? Is the world coming to an end?”  
  
“Not today,” she mutters.  
  
She hovers under the door frame, unsure of whether to leave. He makes up her mind for her, throwing an apron her way. “Put that on. If you help, we’ll get through today’s batch faster and I can switch off this damned oven before the evening.”  
  
*  
  
 **_"Later, there's a lot of kissing. Didn't seem very genuine on your part. Did you like kissing me?"_ **  
  
She knows what day it is that he returns to her bed. It’s Prim’s birthday – _would have been_ Prim’s birthday. The beginning of it, because it past midnight by the time she succumbs to sleep and lets the nightmares encircle her. Everyone in Victors’ Village must be used to her screams by now, and yet, it doesn’t surprise her that he shows up at her front door, bellowing her name. She makes her way down the stairs on shaky legs, letting him wordlessly.  
  
“You shouldn’t be alone today,” he says simply.  
  
He follows her to her room, slips into the bed and holds his arm out in question. She sinks into his side gladly. They wake several times, but on each occasion, he simply holds her with those arms that provided sanctuary when nothing and no one else could. In the morning, he disappears briefly to change his clothes, then returns and declares that they’re spending the day together, doing whatever she wants to do.  
  
She takes him to the woods, leaving him to forage for seeds and berries as she hunts. When she returns, clutching two squirrels by their tails, he doesn’t have the hoard that she expects.  
  
“Reminded me too much of the Games,” he says with a shrug. “So I thought I would collect flowers instead. You know. In her memory.”  
  
Behind him, he has placed an array of purple and white flowers in a neat circle. In Prim’s memory. It is the height of summer and the vegetation is abundant, but it’s the beauty and simplicity of the arrangement that tugs at her. It suit’s her sister so well.  
  
When she reaches him, Katniss touches his mouth with hers. It isn’t really a kiss, not like the ones they have shared before, just a soft pressing of lips. _Thank you_.  
  
When they arrive in Victors’ Village, she really does kiss him. He doesn’t kiss her back, but he doesn’t pull away either, and she tries to convince herself that this is enough for now.  
  
“Goodnight, Katniss,” he mumbles as he pulls away.  
  
But he returns to her a few hours later, stretching out beside her curled body in her bedroom. “It was a difficult day,” he says quietly. “You needed human contact. Comfort. I get that.”  
  
But that wasn’t it. So she kisses him again, trying to say, _No. I needed you. Only you_. She thinks that he understands, because this time, he’s kissing her back.  
  
She kisses him the next day, and the day after that. And the day after that, just for good measure.  
  
*  
  
 **_"And it was okay with both of us? You kissing the other?"_ **  
  
“Gale called me,” he says as soon as the door clicks shut behind a retreating Haymitch.  
  
Katniss looks up sharply, but Peeta is staring resolutely at his now empty plate.  
  
“He wanted to know how you were.”  
  
“What did you tell him?” she asks in a controlled voice.  
  
He returns her gaze now, and though his cheeks carry a rare blush, he doesn’t falter under her glare. “I told him that you were doing well. That you were having regular sessions with Dr. Aurelius, and you talk to your mother a lot. I told him that Greasy Sae was providing meals for all of us. I told him that you hunt every day.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because it’s the truth and he deserves to know. Because he cares about you.” And though his expression is still guarded, it breaks for a split second, allowing her to see his concern. She doesn’t know if it is concern for her or for himself, or even for Gale.  
  
“He could have just called me,” she says with as much indifference as she can muster.  
  
“He said that he wasn’t sure how you’d take it. Figured you’d probably just hang up the phone as soon as you heard his voice.”  
  
Well, she can’t deny that it had crossed her mind.  
  
“I told him to call you tomorrow,” Peeta says decisively as he gets to his feet. She stares after him as he walks to the front door, knowing that she should say something – anything – to alleviate the obvious distress that he’s feeling. But as usual, no words come to her, and she listens to the door close with a thud behind him.  
  
He doesn’t come to breakfast the next day, and she is still fighting the battle with herself over whether to check up on him when the phone rings. She doesn’t answer, and it stops after a couple of minutes.  
  
But then it starts again. She ignores it. And over and over again, until she gets up with a frustrated scream and grabs the receiver.  
  
“Katniss.”  
  
She had forgotten how much she had missed the sound of his voice. “Gale.”  
  
He sighs. “I just wanted to talk to you.”  
  
“So talk.”  
  
The funny thing is, she doesn’t expect him to. She expects him to apologize, or tell her to stop being so damn difficult, or to simply brood in silence. But he doesn’t. He talks – about his family, about his job, about Beetee and Johanna and even her own mother. It seems like everyone has been talking to Gale except her.  
  
When he finally stops, she hears him sigh again. “I just wanted to see how you were, Katniss.”  
  
“I’m okay,” she whispers. Clearing her throat, she tries again. “I’m okay.”  
  
“Peeta sounded well when I spoke to him.” His tone is neutral.  
  
“He _is_ well,” she replies, just as evenly.  
  
“That’s good –“  
  
“Is it?” she cuts in. “Is that what you really think?”  
  
He doesn’t answer straight away, but when he does speak she knows that he means it. “If he’s well, then you’re well. I get that now.”  
  
Though she hasn’t said much, the conversation is draining. Thinking about Gale – and Gale and Peeta – all over again is draining. “I’ll call you next week,” she says quietly, but sincerely. “Bye, Gale.”  
  
 _And now for Peeta_.  
  
He doesn’t answer her knock, and when she applies pressure, the door creaks open easily. She creeps in, her guard up. The main reception room is bare, and she is halfway to the kitchen when she hears a dull thud from the floor above. Quietly, she makes her way up the staircase. But she doesn’t know this house the way that she knows her own, and when the wood of the final step creaks under her weight, she freezes.  
  
She hears him coming before she sees his silhouette darken the entrance to the second room to her right.  
  
“Here to finish me off, sweetheart?”  
  
She rolls her eyes, loathing the image of a dying boy that springs to her mind because of his words. “You didn’t come for breakfast.”  
  
“I slept in,” he explains with a shrug.  
  
The sunlight is streaming into the room that lies behind him, and the contrast makes it difficult for her to make out the finer features of his expression. Taking a deep breath, she steps forward.  
  
“Do I get to see your new masterpieces now that I’m here?”  
  
He huffs. “You sure you want to?”  
  
No, she really isn’t. She remembers the first time only too well, the way he had brought his – and her – nightmares to life through paint. So she doesn’t answer and merely brushes past him and into his studio.  
  
It’s different this time, but no less heartbreaking. Paintings of her lie everywhere, some realistic and some not. Some of her when she was younger, some of her during the Games. Some of her as a crazed killer mutt.  
  
She turns her back on those and faces him. “I spoke to Gale.”  
  
“So I was right,” he says with a wry smile. “You really are here to finish me off.”  
  
She shakes her head in confusion.  
  
“You’re ending this,” he clarifies with his hand gesturing between the two of them. “Whatever _this_ is.”  
  
This time, it is a vehement shake of the head. “No. I came here to make sure that you were okay.”  
  
“You were only kissing me because I’m here and Gale’s in District 2,” he replies flatly.  
  
She should be angry – she _is_ angry – but right now, all she wants is to make sure that he knows the truth.  
  
Within two strides, she’s close enough to take his head between her hands, and she leans forward until all she can see is his eyes.  
  
“I was kissing you because I wanted to. I want you. I need you.”  
  
It doesn’t seem to be enough to her, her words never are. But his eyes search hers for a long moment before his facial muscles relax beneath her palms. When his lips meet hers, she hopes that he will understand what she is trying to say by her actions.  
  
*  
  
 **_"Well, you're a piece of work, aren't you?"_ **  
  
During the day, they tiptoe around each other as normal. But at night, in her room, they live in a different world entirely, one where they can truly act on their desires.  
  
Tentative at first, but much more assured by the third week, they take turns to explore each other’s bodies. Peeta always lets her begin, lying back as she unbuttons his nightshirt. Tonight, she thinks that she should probably suggest that they stop wearing so much to bed. But for now, her fingers work quickly and confidently to unfasten his top before pushing the flaps aside. His breath hitches when her fingertips brush his chest, and she doesn’t miss the way he arches into her touch.  
  
She kisses his nipple, then the shallow waves that cover his stomach, before pressing her lips against his navel. Her fingers clutch the waistband of his pants, and she glances up at him in question. He nods, running his tongue over his bottom lip. She shifts to hover above him at the same time that he raises his hips, and pulls the fabric down easily to his knees. When she lies back down on her side, Peeta bends his legs and kicks the pants off completely.  
  
She doesn’t give him a chance to settle back down, reaching for him with her hands as well as her mouth. He moans as she captures his lips between hers, though she suspects that it is the palm that cups his erection through his shorts that has elicited the response. She deepens the kiss, dipping her tongue inside his mouth, and he moans again. But this time, his hand catches hers and pulls it away from his body.  
  
“I want to go first this time,” he says, his voice rough and low, the way it always seems to be inside this room. He uses his considerable weight to push her onto her back, mirroring her previous posture as he lies on his side next to her. His erection presses into her thigh, and she stubbornly reaches for him once more.  
  
But Peeta is as good as she is at instigating a distraction, and when his fingers dip under the hem of her top and clutch greedily at the base of her breast, she relinquishes control.  
  
“Off,” he murmurs. She agrees, lifting first her upper body, and then her hips so that he can remove her clothing. Now they match, him with his shorts and her with her panties, and it surprises her how quickly she’s gotten used to this. They had done just this during the first week, kissing and caressing and exploring until the fire lowered to a gentle flame that they kept fanned until morning.  
  
During the second week, she had sat on top of his legs and gripped his cock through his shorts with both hands, following his instructions as she pumped him to an orgasm. He had seemed embarrassed as he muttered an apology before retreating to the bathroom. But when he returned, he did so with a new look of determination. He fingered her through the fabric of her panties, asking her what felt good. But it hadn’t been enough, and she watched his eyes widen as she grabbed his hand and thrust it beneath her underwear. “Two fingers,” she whispered. “Circles. Right _there_ .” She had come within minutes.  
  
Tonight, he doesn’t hesitate. His fingers are on her bare skin, wandering teasingly through her folds, and it feels better than ever. She’s just getting used to the sensations that are coursing through her body, when his hand slips further. When he slips a solitary finger inside her, she gasps. This is new. Her eyes meet his, and she can see the question. Not trusting herself to speak, she can only nod her assent. He tries to press the heel of his hand against her labia, but she knows immediately that the contact won’t be tight enough.  
  
“Thumb. Use your thumb.”  
  
He does, and the instant surge in intensity makes her hips buck. Dimly, she hears his gasping laughter somewhere near her ear. He pumps his fingers in and out her in shallow thrusts, all the while tracing circles with his thumb the way that she had taught him.  
  
“Fuck,” she mutters as the pleasure builds. “ _Fuck_.”  
  
He freezes, and she feels him raising his head from the pillow even before she can register his piercing gaze.  
  
“Don’t stop.” She wants to sound commanding, but it comes out more as a plea.  
  
His mouth curls slowly into a wide grin. “Say it again.”  
  
“Don’t stop. Please,” she adds for good measure.  
  
He shakes his head, still grinning. “Not that.”  
  
 _Oh_.  
  
“Peeta?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“I want your fingers inside me –” she emphasizes her next words with rhythmic undulations of her hips, “– _fucking_ me.”  
  
His teasing smile disappears then, only to be replaced by a hunger that must surely match hers. He has no words for her now, and his response is to curl his fingers inside her cunt and rub her clitoris in frantic circles with his thumb. It’s the best reaction that she could hope for.  
  
When her body begins to tighten around him, he leans down to whisper in her ear, “Say it again.”  
  
But she can’t concentrate on that right now, because her body is as taut as her bow string in the moment before she sends an arrow flying. And then Peeta curls his fingers once more – and lets her fly. The first wave that hits her is relief, followed by the intense pleasure that she has come to associate with nights and moonlight and Peeta. When her lungs finally take in fresh air, she remembers his request.  
  
“Fuck, Peeta,” she breathes.  
  
His fingers slip out, but he keeps his palm resting lightly over her still throbbing groin. He watches her as she tries to regulate her breathing, though she notes the way his own chest heaves unevenly.  
  
“You like it when I curse,” she says with a shy smile, which even she recognizes is ridiculous, given that he had had his fingers _inside_ her body only moments ago.  
  
“I like that _I_ make you curse,” he says, his grin returning. His fingers move to trace lazy circles around her nipple, and another ripple of pleasure begins its slow, tortuous journey through her body. “That I’m the one making you –“  
  
“Rude? Impure? Ill-mannered?” she proposes.  
  
He snickers. “I was going to say…lose control. I mean, you’re ill-mannered pretty much _all_ the time.”  
  
“Well, that is true,” she concedes.  
  
And then she shoves him unceremoniously onto his back. “Your turn.”  
  
*  
  
 **_Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly._ **   
  
He tells her in fits and starts, long after they start sleeping together, and it takes some time to piece the jigsaw together.  
  
“You thought about me in District 13,” she says carefully.  
  
“I thought about you all the _time_ , Katniss. Since we were kids, you know that.”  
  
She shakes her head. “No, I mean, _that_ way.”  
  
“What way?” he asks innocently enough, but the smallest curve in his lips betrays him.  
  
Well, two can play that game. “You thought about fucking me.”  
  
Her attention is caught by the way his throat moves as he swallows hard before answering. “I’ve thought about fucking you since I first had thoughts of that nature.”  
  
“But, in District 13?” she pushes.  
  
He sighs. “You have to understand how confusing it was. One half of me loved and wanted you and had _those_ thoughts about you. The other half…didn’t,” he ends diplomatically.  
  
 _Well, that’s an understatement_.  
  
“I would imagine you coming to see me,” he continues. “Only, I’d have to be restrained. And you…you would…”  
  
She doesn’t speak, but does reach for his hand with hers, willing him to continue.  
  
“You would _toy_ with me.”  
  
 _Oh_. “And you liked it?”  
  
“Not at first,” he admits. “But as I started to get better, the balance tipped. The good half enjoyed it more than the bad half hated it.”  
  
She is almost afraid to ask, but knows that she has to. “And now?”  
  
“And now…I think all of me could enjoy it.”  
  
She doesn’t do anything that night except ride him slowly until they both come. As he descends from his high, she grabs his wrists and lurches forward to pin them together above his head. There is enough moonlight streaming through the window to enable her to see his eyes clearly. They hold surprise, and then desire – but none of the fear or distrust that she had been wary of.  
  
“Katniss?”  
  
“I wanted to test your reaction,” she says quietly, unable to resist the urge to dig her fingernails into his wrists. He hisses, which she would take as a negative response, were it not for the way his cock twitches between her legs.  
  
“And?”  
  
“You passed the test.”  
  
At her words, Peeta reaches up with his mouth to kiss her hungrily. She lets go of his hands, and he practically whimpers, keeping his own arms raised despite the lack of any restraint.  
  
“Tomorrow,” she promises as she slips to one side.  
  
The next day, they are both so quiet that Haymitch is convinced that they’ve had an argument. When he asks Katniss what she did, she glares until he retreats back to his house, muttering to himself about knowing better than to get involved.  
  
That just leaves the two of them, staring uncomfortably at each other in the kitchen.  
  
Slowly, she rises from her seat under his watchful eye. Makes her way to the sink. Picks up the sharpest of the carving knives. Moves to stand behind his chair.  
  
And grabs a fistful of the hair above his crown to yank his head back onto her chest.  
  
He gasps audibly when the tip of the blade makes contact with his tense throat. His gaze is piercing, but again, there is no fear. No reason for her to back out of this.  
  
“Upstairs. Now.”  
  
She drops her hand to one side, but keeps the blade in his eye line as he jumps to his feet. She trails after him, taking in the way his broad shoulders tense when the wooden steps creak under her feet, signaling that she is right behind him.  
  
When they get to her room, he stands in the middle, his back turned to her. _Waiting for instructions_ , she realizes.  
  
“Take off your clothes.”  
  
She watches at first, fascinated by the way he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t falter. When his undershorts drop to the ground, he kicks them to one side and straightens. If she didn’t know better, she would think that he is calm and collected. But the first two fingers of his left hand drum almost imperceptibly against his thigh, a nervous tick that she first noticed on the Victory Tour.  
  
“Lie down on your back on the bed. Close your eyes,” she adds after a moment.  
  
He moves without looking at her, keeping his attention fixed on his feet as he moves. When he is in position, she makes her way to the dresser. Digging out the scraps of fabric that Cinna left when they were working on her ‘talent’, she closes the drawer with a bang and walks over to the bed.  
  
“Lift your arms above your head,” she commands as she straddles his stomach. Again, he follows without hesitation.  
  
She takes her time to secure his wrists to the rails at the head of the bed, close enough that his elbows are bent. _He’ll be able to lean forward if he needs to_.  
  
Suddenly remembering the object that she left on the dresser table, she climbs off of him to retrieve it, then kicks off her shoes before resuming her position.  
  
“Open your eyes.”  
  
His attention is immediately drawn to the knife in her hand. She can’t resist running the tip of the blade across his chest, from one nipple to the other.  
  
“You’re going to do everything I say. You’re not going to talk unless I ask you a question. Is that clear?”  
  
He swallows before speaking. “Yes.”  
  
She places the knife carefully beside them, watching him watch her. When his eyes drift up to hers, she reaches for the hem of her shirt and lifts it up. His chest bucks beneath her, and she looks down sharply. He stills.  
  
Next, she rolls to the other side of him, lying next to him as she raises her hips to push off her pants. When she straddles him again, she is only wearing her underwear, and she can feel the hot skin of his hips against her thighs. He feels – and looks – as if he has a fever, despite the cool mid-morning breeze that seeps through the partially open window.  
  
It’s cruel, she knows, but her fingers drift to the apex of her legs and beneath her panties, and she watches his eyes follow them. She rubs slowly, first around her pubic hair, and then closer and closer until she feels the soft flesh of her labia. He mirrors her gasp when her fingertips disappear between those lips, and her eyelids flutter shut as they come into contact with her clitoris. She circles slowly at first, but the sound of Peeta moaning lightly spurs her on. She brings her free hand down across her left thigh, slips two fingers under the fabric at the base and inside herself. It doesn’t take long like this, and when she reaches her peak, Katniss opens her eyes and keeps her gaze locked on Peeta as she comes with a loud moan. His mouth hangs open, but any sound that he might make is drowned out by hers.  
  
When she is done, she reaches forward. He takes her fingers into his mouth hungrily, as he has done ever since they started this. It had embarrassed her at the beginning, but she would be lying if she said that it didn’t turn her on now.  
  
On their fourth night of exploration, she had sat on top of him, grinding down relentlessly when she found a particular angle that sent pleasure shooting to the extremities of her body. She had climaxed with a gasp, surprised that such little contact could have that effect on her. But then he had begged her not to stop, and she kept rolling her hips over him until she felt his cock pulse through their underwear. She does this now, with only her panties between them. When she feels the heat between her legs build to an almost unbearable level, she shifts the fabric to one side roughly, and rubs her bare skin against his cock.  
  
He chokes out a breath at this new contact. He must surely be able to feel the moisture that’s seeping from her.  
  
She comes again with a sharp cry, eyes rolling backward and hands clutching at her breasts. When she composes herself enough to look down at him, he looks as bewitched as she feels.  
  
“Would you like to be inside me, Peeta?”  
  
“Yes,” he chokes out. “Please.”  
  
Grasping his cock, she takes him in slowly, all the while watching the way his face contorts with relief, pleasure and maybe even a little pain. His expression doesn’t relax as she rides him impossibly slowly, knowing full well that neither of them will be able to reach their peak just from this.  
  
He opens his mouth to speak, but she raises a finger to her lips, reminding him of the rules that he had agreed to. He closes his mouth tightly. She does quicken her movements a little though, and he moans lightly in relief. She maintains the rhythm for a few minutes, then increases the pace once more. Soon, his hips are circling in time to hers, and she grinds down to reestablish the enchanting contact on her clitoris that will bring forth another orgasm. When she comes, Peeta stills beneath her. It makes her smile, that he always tries to savor the feeling of her muscles tightening around him.  
  
When it’s over, she leans forward to flatten her chest onto his, unable to resist squirming a little to create some delicious friction against her nipples.  
  
“You can come now,” she says quietly against his ear.  
  
He groans, loudly, and immediately pushes forward to claim her mouth with his. At the same time, his hips buck back and forth at a frantic pace, thrusting his cock in and out of her suspended body.  
  
He tilts his head back and arches his body into hers when he climaxes with a shout, and Katniss can’t help but run her tongue from his clavicle, over his Adam’s apple and up to his chin as he pulses inside her. When he’s spent, she reaches up to unfasten his restraints before shifting her body onto the mattress. She curls into his side, smiling at the way his chest rises and falls so dramatically and knowing that she caused it.  
  
He shifts his head slightly, and she sees him lift the knife that she had tossed on to the mattress beside him. He twirls it a little, and the surface of the blade catches the late morning sunlight. “The knife was…unexpected,” he says as he looks down at her. “I liked it.”  
  
“Would you want to do this again?” she asks carefully.  
  
His fractionally wider eyes tell her more than his voice ever will. “Yes,” he says immediately. “Whatever you want. I trust you.”  
  
And there it is. That single word that epitomizes what Snow took from them when he captured Peeta.  
  
A long moment passes before she is ready to declare that they have finally beaten him. “I trust you, too.”

 


End file.
